Friday, May 28, 2010


Nope. I'm not talking about pasta. Haven't had real pasta in eons. It's not that I don't love it. I just can't have it.

I'm speaking of my friend Terry whom I memorialized in Why is the Measure of Love Loss?

Wasn't he beautiful? I haven't had him in eons. It's not that I don't love him. I just can't have him.

Terry's ashes were released last Saturday on Mt. Bolza in Italy...from the spot where he passed.

I bring it up because while walking to work that night I was surrounded by hundreds upon hundred of butterflies. I'd walked that way before and had never seen any. But this Saturday night they danced about my head and twixt my limbs.

Just like Terry.

I still miss him. But now, whenever I see butterflies, he will be dancing about in my pixie-faced pinhead.

Buon viaggio, carissimo Terry. Ti vedo nelle farfalle.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

SIster Here

All good...can't write. Busy entertaining.

More soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Up in the Middle of the Night

and I hate it. None of my tried and true tricks are working. Jesus hates me. And I'm not too fond of me at the moment either 'cause I haven't done a blog post in days. I've been getting all crafty about creativity and...well...

I WANNA FREAKIN' SLEEP!!!!!!!!! C'MON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. Thanks. You're sweet.

P.S. luv, Luv, LuV the TaB book ideas. Tanx. Gonna TaB it out and see what sticks.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I Think Cool

That's what the little old man who gathers up the shopping trolleys from the local Sarasota Publix said in response to my question, "Don't you get hot out here?"

"I think cool."

I think I love him.

It was a good morning at the Publix. (Honest to Allah, never thought THAT sentence would come out of my piehole.) Momentarily aghast at the lack of TaB, I asked the nice lady to check in the back. She re-surfaced with two twelve-packs and then went back to get me TWO MORE.

Is she my guardian angel? My Ganymede?

And there was a sale. $9.98 total. TOTAL. That is 21 cents a can, people.

I do believe Jesus loves me.

To a certain extent I think the Coca Cola Company owes me that much. I asked them about a Coffee TaBle Book and they said NAY. A friend informed me of a loophole and I said YAY. Like the S&M Barbie Book (that is not about Barbie at ALL), I just have to make the Coffee TaBLe Book about something other than TaB.

Perhaps friendship?

Perhaps about "thinking cool."

Ideas? Suggestions?

I believe...just like that little old trolley man.

Do you think cool?

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


Subject: log-on, log-off, linguistic lothario (i like that better)



Date: 08:39 PM 2/17/99

my all-star alliterative allah:

re: oob ooo: i don’t get it.

rebellious relative reprieve: i hope all goes well with monica. has she done this before or is she angry? feeling abandoned? please give her my love and tell her to get an overcoat with bigger pockets . . . preferably inner pockets . . . lead-lined.

pursuit of parallel partner: i recently came to the conclusion that to attract a certain kind of person, one need be that kind of person. i don’t know what that has to do with anything . . . it just sounded good.


i have a rather eclectic apartment, decorated with a great deal of fairytale paraphernalia . . . the dangers of playing princesses. on the wall across from my couch hang four alice in wonderland lithographs, purchased because of the sentiments of one, involving a dialogue between alice and the cheshire cat.


“would you tell me, please, which way i ought to go from here?”

“that depends a good deal on where you want to get to, “ said the cat.

“i don’t much care where-“ said alice.

“then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the cat.

“-as long as i get somewhere,” alice added as an explanation.

“oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the cat, “if only you walk long enough.”



i’m happy to be strolling with you, doug.


multifarious meddlesome me.e.

(that’s a triple word score, if i’ve ever seen one)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Like To Get To Know You

yes, i would like to get to know you, if i could

like to get to know you

finally i found, searching all around

just was not the answer

one i thought was true

looked a bit like you

figured i might chance her

hardly need to say

she went on her way

said it was all over

well it's been some time

and i guess that i'm just meant to be a rover

now i can't promise that i'll spend a day with you

can't promise that i'll find a way with you

can't promise no i can't promise that i'll love you

but i'd like to get to know you

yes i would if i could

Monday, May 17, 2010

For Many Reasons...

...I have never included my name on this blog. First reason is family. Never wanted them to Google-ize me and come up with this. The whole thing's a little randy, and does my 12-year-old niece need to read it? I don't think so.

I have never included my pic on this blog. Other than those where my face is partially obscured. It's fun being Ann a certain degree. I know if you know my via Facebook, you know me, but if you're one of my many followers in Arab-speaking countries, all you know is that "TIZ" means "hoo hoo" and you're mighty disappointed.

But here's a recent pic of me...FULL FACE.

Still unrecognizable, methinks. More Roman Polanski than not (thanks Jed).

I used to cross-dress a lot more when I was younger. Don't know if it was just easier to pass when I had no hips...or shorter hair...or because I liked dating gay men. But I liked (and have always liked) blurring the lines. I have the soul of a thirteen-year-old gay boy. LOVE and attracted to men, and seemingly tortured by it.

And it's impossible to tell the family.

Now the cross-dressing happens mainly onstage. Have disguised myself as or played a man in Once Upon a Mattress, Fermat's Last Tango, The Magic Flute, Byzantium, Triumph of Love, The Poor Sailor, Macbeth, South Pacific, Backwards in High Heels and Twelfth Night.

The audience the other day seemed confused. They didn't laugh at ALL when I entered in the above outfit. And I in turn became confused. "I am a woman. Dressed as a man. With a penciled-on moustache. This is inherently funny. DON'T MAKE ME WORK FOR A LAUGH, PEOPLE. You'll hate me for it And so will I."

Cross-dressing. It's fun. Try it. You'll like it.

Sunday, May 16, 2010


Subject: Re: log-on, log-off linguistic loatheries



Date: 02:09 PM 2/17/99

My allowably allegorical alliterator,

Irritating i.q. indicators and serious stuff (supposedly): Years and years ago, many of my friends were surprised when I decided to marry Della because she wasn’t particularly intellectual. At the time, I explained (and felt) that I had all of the intellectual stimulation that I needed through my work; my choice of a spouse reflected a desire to find complementary personality traits, rather than overlapping ones. The theory was that Della kept me grounded and stopped me from floating off to some ethereal plane. As I’ve embarked on this new life of mine, I’ve realized how much I’ve missed by not spending the last dozen years with a like-minded person. It’s not just the mental stimulation—it’s also the feeling that someone appreciates the things that make me me (as opposed to me.e.). I think that’s part of why I’m enjoying this so much. I like being attracted to someone who keeps (and pushes) the pace. It’s an unfamiliar sensation.

OOB ooo: That’s hilarious—when I wrote the xxx, I thought about ooo and the story of your brother immediately came to mind, but I was much too polite to mention it.

My Monica’s melancholy muddle: Did I mention that I have to spend Wednesday and Thursday in court with my step-daughter? Wednesday is for driving with a suspended driver’s license (resulting from not paying parking tickets). Thursday is for trying to walk out of Neiman Marcus with a $111.11 skirt tucked in her coat pocket (yes, a very skimpy pocket-sized $111.11 skirt). I’ve told her that this is her only “get-out-of-jail-free” card. Ah, the joys of parenthood.



Saturday, May 15, 2010


Subject: log-on, log-off, linguistic loatheries



Date: 06:23 PM 2/16/99

my alimonial alliterative alter-ego (alimonial is payback for the cruel missy t reference):

i.q. idiocy, fourth-grade foolery, and lots o’ lessons learned: never date anyone who asks you (don’t you love how i always make “you” the subject) your i.q. before they ask you out, because not only are they unfounded intellectual snobs, but if they need to ask a question like that, then they will continually be saying things like “slow down, you know your mind is too fast for a mere mortal like me.” boy, doesn’t that get old. so, to answer your question of 2/12/99, yes, my ex had something stupid to say about my being smart.

once upon a time, long ago and far away, christinane was paid not to sing . . . at 17 she worked as a singing waitress in a hell-hole called anderson’s angus corral (known fondly to its help as anderson’s anal canal), where a lovely gentleman would pay her $25 to sing “the sound of music.” one night, our songbird had a cold and must have performed “the sound of mucous,” because her solicitor paid her $50 to cease and desist.

a tale so chilling, to this day it must be told in 3rd person singular.

ooo (to e.e.ven the score, although i realize, considering my bogus brotherly blowjob background, that could be read another way)


Friday, May 14, 2010

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The Beach

What is it about the beach? What is it that makes it so restorative? The bjillion happy people? The seagulls leaving presents and presence on the beach blanket? The ability and God-given right to piddle in a massive body of water? The knowledge that no matter how bad you look in your suit there is someone who looks worse?

And there always is.

I don't know. Even with a back burned to look like a Picasso, I feel great.

And it's always been that way. Even throwing up hot Fresca on the black sand beaches of Fire Island, there was no place I would rather have been throwing up hot Fresca.

Even with a dead Pop, there was no place I would rather have been missing my dead Pop then on the beaches of Ravenna, Italy.

I don't mean soda pop. I mean Poppy Pop. Daddy. A week after he passed I had an engagement with Opera North at Il Festivale di Ravenna on the coast of the Adriatic. They told me I could skip it with my reputation intact and without being fined financially, but who in their right mind would pass up a trip to the Adriatic?

Not moi.

And there was no place else I would rather have missed Pop. Beach during the day, performance at night and some cultural trips in between...with a steady dose of pizza, pasta, pesce and gelato cioccolato. Okay...some vino.

And good friends.

If I had to live in a world without Pop (and I most certainly did and still do {unless there's sumpin' I don't know about}), the beach with its clear and heavily salinated water that keeps me buoyed (I just made a typo--"goyed"--ha!) is the place to do it.

Float float float. Piddle piddle piddle.

In with the good. Out with the bad.


Tuesday, May 11, 2010


Subject: Manic Monday



Date: 12:31 PM 2/16/99

P.S. I’ve never heard of Caesar’s Palace Pizza. What is it? A local pizza place? Franchise? Brand name? Psychotic episode? Acid flashback? Hallucination resulting from excessive Valentine chocolate consumption?

Sunday, May 9, 2010


Subject: Re: freaky friday



Date: 12:28 PM 2/16/99

Marvelous mischievous me.e.,

Paying patron: Would they have charged you less if you had refused to sing? And did you tell the orchestra that you wanted to do “Springtime for Hitler?”

Valentine vacancy: It felt odd, but oddly not too difficult. Della called from Italy to talk to the kids, but then engaged me in one of those conversations where the only sensible reaction is “Why are you doing this?” Funny, though, I recovered more quickly than I ever would have imagined, and enjoyed much of the rest of the day.

Postponing pigeonholing: I don’t know what we’re doing either, but I know that I like it.

xxx (just kisses this time, in honor of your Valentine’s Day excerpt, though I realize there’s another way to read that line)

Be dog-less (OK, a little cruel in light of the fate of Missy T)


Subject: freaky friday



Date: 01:41 AM 2/15/99

bodacious b’douglas:

especially freaky friday, since it is saturday . . . wait . . . sunday.

imagine . . . late in the afternoon, you get a call from your friend bettina buckley (star extraordinaire) to inform you that she does, in fact, have two tickets for her show tonight. shit, now you have to find someone to go with you. you choose tim because he isn’t going to want something extra special from you for valentines day. you go to the show, enjoy yourself, have a few beers, and cheer as your friends from “triumph” get up to sing a few songs. betty calls you up as well. you think you’ll bow and wave to the crowd. surprise . . . you’re singing a song.

you paid for your ticket.

it was so yummy of you to phone me yesterday. i attempted to call you back when i realized that february 14th might not be an easy day for you in your newly single state. my thoughts were with you.

whatever it is that we are doing (and it can’t be pigeonholed, thank god) is special to me. i thank you for that.



p.s. late last night, i discovered caesar’s palace pizza.

Saturday, May 8, 2010


My ClusterMaps has betrayed had clocked about 6000 bleaders of TiZandAsS. And at some point between 10:45 am May 7th and 9:09 am May 8th, it rebooted itself.

Killing them all. All the little red dots.

And then there were 12.

I want my 5,988 back. COME BACK LITTLE SHEBA!

But what makes me saddest is I never got to thank and welcome the new countries. Never got to thank and welcome them in their native tongues (or the TiZian approximation). And there were about 35 who had attended the United Nations of TiZandAsS with nary a hello.

Oh, my apologies. Please come back. Please. I'm being a good girl and apologizing and appreciating you. Please come back.

I miss you, little red dots.

Friday, May 7, 2010


Subject: Re: ***then why do I get to read it?***



Date: 11:15 PM 2/13/99

oops . . . typo . . . the subject should have read ***a dolt only*** as the object of my affection obviously is.

right back at ya



Thursday, May 6, 2010


Subject: ***then why do I get to read it?***



Date: 03:00 PM 2/13/99


VERY nice. I particularly like the second paragraph; the sensations seemed somehow strangely familiar. “Sweet and precise torture”—know it well. Happy Valentine’s Day back at ya.



Wednesday, May 5, 2010


Subject: *** for adults only ***



Date: 08:20 AM 2/13/99

warning - sensitive material enclosed.


from the wooden frame above where the gunpowder waits there are also suspended a number of nets and trapezes. from here acrobats swing over the square, casting grotesque shadows on the dancers below. now and again, one will dangle by the knees and snatch a kiss from whoever is standing below. i like such kisses. they fill the mouth and leave the body free. to kiss well one must kiss solely. no groping hands or stammering hearts. the lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. passion is sweeter split strand by strand. divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment.

and so, from the first, we separated our pleasure. [he] lay on the rug and i lay at right angles to [him] so that only our lips might meet. kissing in this way is the strangest of distractions. the greedy body that clamors for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all things pass through it and are re-defined. it is a sweet and precise torture.


jeanette winterson, the passion

happy valentines day



Tuesday, May 4, 2010

What Fresh Hell is This?

I don't know why I named this blog post that, other than I LOVE it. I LOVE that Dotty Parker quote, I tell ya.

And I'm pretty sure Dorothy Parker wasn't called Dotty. Ever. Or Dory. Call me crazy, I just don't think she'd ever go for it.

Have worked my AsS off for the past couple of days. Four days of tech. Three ten out of twelves in a row. It got pretty hateful (and by that I mean I baked four chocolate chip cookie pies so everyone would feel loved and sugared up). Got a massage yesterday. Regina has magic hands. Wicked STRONG magic hands. Have to say I feel a lot better...and hateless.

And I learned I have to drink more water...she went through about a gallon of massage lotion. My lil ol body just kept soaking it up.

Okay...whatever....have no idea what I'm writing about other than I just learned (in addition to having to drink more water) that a dear, beloved, bone and sinew friend just got nominated for a Tony. And I'm so fucking proud of her I could scream.


I met her on a little musical that will remain nameless. And I worked my way up the ranks in this little musical. And ended up being on a team of people who helped the creatives re-write this little musical. And it turned into a gorgeous, big musical that was gonna have a life. A healthy life because it was smart and universal and specific and heart-breaking and funny.

And the composer and book-writer and producer killed it. First they killed all of us. Fired our asses. (Guess we'd been too intrusive---honest to Jesus, the worst thing I'd said was, "Oh my God, just change the REASON for the scene and it's perfect. Listen." That was me at my worst.) Then they fired the director. Then the famous music director. Then they oh-my-God changed it back, added some crap we had begged them not to, hired a new director, recast it and then lost all their funding.


And this sweet marvelous directorial Goddess has been nominated for a Tony. Betcha they're all pea-green with envy now, aren't they?

And I'm so proud I can scream.


Random. I know. Gonna be a "what fresh hell is this" kinda preview with a noggin as random as this.
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